


In Other Words

by kirallea



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Late at Night, Making Out, Post-Canon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 00:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30114588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirallea/pseuds/kirallea
Summary: Catra is larger than life, a million things at once. Almost impossible to describe, to capture with words. And yet, Adora keeps trying.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 99





	In Other Words

Somewhere between dusk and dawn, Catra reclines back on the pillows, spreads her legs, and gives Adora a look that says more than any amount of words ever could.

It’s the witching hour, and the world is so silent that Adora can hear the erratic rhythm of her own heartbeat. They must be the only ones awake in all of Bright Moon, whispering to each other in the comfort of their bed, cocooned in the safety of their room. She’d gotten up just long enough to let in some fresh air, a trickle of moonlight, and turned back around to see -- _this_. Now, sleep is the furthest thing from her mind.

Adora makes her way back to the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her knees. Her breath is stuck in her throat. Somehow, the light knows exactly how to settle itself on Catra’s naked body. It finds the expanse of her stomach, the silk of her thighs, allows shadows to pool in the hollow of her throat, the dips of her collar bones. Adora lets out a reverent breath and drinks in the sight. _Stay still,_ she wants to say. _Let me watch you a little longer, and I might be able to remember this forever._

She swallows, glances up at Catra’s face. She keeps getting drawn to her eyes, the blue and the yellow striking even in the low light. Catra’s expression is guarded, almost wary, and Adora reads her like an open book, can practically hear her thoughts. _Is this too much?_

Adora parts her lips, searching for words. _You’re beautiful. I want you so much._ They’re all true, but they simply don’t convey the magnitude of what she feels, this rush of white-hot desire in her veins. And so there is only silence, until--

“Come here,” Catra says. There’s a touch of softness in her voice. And Adora does, crawling on top of her and dipping down to kiss her, sighing as she sinks into her embrace. 

Sometimes, she still feels like they’re doing this for the very first time. Five months after the fall of Prime, and she’s still discovering what it means to be physically intimate with someone she’s in love with. She doesn’t think she will ever stop marveling at the feeling of skin on skin, the warm press of Catra’s mouth on hers. It’s all part of this new reality, this new world she doesn’t quite know how to navigate yet. And yet, she is starting to find familiar landmarks, beacons of light in the darkness. There’s the hand on the back of her neck, claws retracted, the touch impossibly soft. There’s the sound Catra makes in the back of her throat when they kiss, something between a growl and a moan. Some day, this will feel like the first breath after a deep dive, easy and natural and exhilarating. 

“Are you uncomfortable?” Adora blurts out. She’s just a little bit out of breath, her lips moving against Catra’s as she speaks. 

Catra barks out a laugh. “What makes you think I’m uncomfortable?”

“Well, I’m squishing you,” Adora says. “You can tell me if it’s not--”

She gets cut off before she can finish the sentence, because there are hands cupping her face, and she’s being pulled down into a hungry kiss, the kind that makes her forget even her own name.

They don’t usually talk much during sex. It’s a soundtrack of rustling sheets and bitten-back moans, the two of them murmuring _is this okay?_ and _feels good?_ against each other’s mouths. Adora has learned to be quiet when it comes to the matters of the heart, to suppress her emotions instead of expressing them. Three and a half years after leaving the Horde, she’s still struggling to find her voice, her words. Her identity.

Adora is a direct product of her upbringing. She is uncomfortably familiar with military jargon. She has no trouble talking in front of people or carrying a conversation with a friend. But no one gave her the vocabulary, the tools to express _this_ , the way her heart swells at the sound of Catra’s laughter, the way her breath hitches in her throat when Catra looks at her like -- _that_. Four years ago, she thought she was ready for anything: to face the world, to fight the Rebellion, to lead troops to victory. Now, she can’t believe how wrong she was. The one thing Horde failed to prepare her for? Having a heart filled with so much love, the only thing that really matters.

And so she doesn’t really talk about her feelings, not very often, not nearly as much as she’d like. Adora is a doer instead of a talker, and she lets her hands do the talking. Her tongue, too, even though she’s not using it for words. She can only hope the message finds its way to Catra, one way or another.

Her body hums with energy, a special kind of electricity; her skin tingles where their bodies press together. It could be pleasure, or magic, or both. There’s not as much of a difference between the two as she had thought. The physical sensation is oddly similar, like someone’s lit a match inside her, sparks flying in all directions. Had she known it the first time they did this, it would have made things much less confusing.

Adora pauses for a moment, panting softly. She waits for it, the telltale tingle in her toes and fingertips, the rush of something warm and powerful inside her, but it never comes. Next thing she knows, Catra’s lips are finding hers again, and she’s releasing a shaky breath into Catra’s mouth, heart fluttering in her chest.

It’s not uncommon for her to transform into She-Ra when they’re in bed together. Adora still remembers the first time it happened, remembers the burn on her cheeks, the way she’d looked away from Catra, eyes everywhere but on her. But Catra had seemed to like it, so it ended up not mattering nearly as much as she thought it would. Now, Adora kind of likes it, too. She-Ra is a physical manifestation of her feelings, a wordless expression of love. In some ways, her truest form, something she can’t hide, can’t really control. 

She has said it before, of course. _I love you, too._ And she wants to say more, but how could she? Catra is larger than life, a million things at once. Almost impossible to describe, to capture with words. And yet, Adora keeps trying. 

“Hey,” Catra says when they break off the kiss, voice low and delicious. “Stop that. You’re thinking too much.”

Adora draws a deep breath. Her throat is completely dry. “I’m not thinking too much.”

Catra lets out a half-hearted scoff. “You are.”

Adora tries to come up with a witty response, but before she can even open her mouth, Catra grabs her by the shoulder, rolls her onto her side. And it’s so easy for Adora to pull Catra with her, to bring their bodies together, their faces only inches away from each other, legs tangling in a messy array of limbs, and the very next moment, Catra’s slipping a hand between their bodies, between Adora’s legs, and then -- then she does not think about anything anymore.

What follows is an overload of sensation. She is acutely aware of all the nooks and corners of her body, the edges and the borders and everything in between. The flushed skin, the sheen of sweat on her back and thighs. The sweet-hot tension deep inside her, the pulsing rhythm of it. She ends up panting against Catra’s mouth, lips parted, eyes closed. It’s a little awkward like this, and yet so perfect. If she could stop time, she would.

“Still distracted?” There’s a teasing lilt in Catra’s voice; Adora can practically feel her smirk against her lips.

“ _Catra._ ” It’s all she has to say, because half a second later, Catra is kissing her, and she’s kissing her back, and it’s better than anything they could possibly say to each other.

Catra’s fingers are working their own magic now, a maddening set of never-ending circles. Adora closes her eyes, bites down on her own lip, and lets the pleasure take over her body. She’s getting closer and closer and closer, and she waits a little longer, just a little bit more, until--

\--until she grabs Catra’s wrist and pulls her hand out from between their bodies. This is something she likes, delayed gratification. Surprising Catra, watching her eyes flicker up to Adora’s face, one eyebrow raised just slightly. Taking control.

And then, she does what she does best. She pushes Catra back down on the pillows, climbs on top of her. Braces one hand on the bed beside Catra’s head, cups a breast with the other. Rolls a nipple between her thumb and index finder, trails her hand down Catra’s stomach. Dips it lower, between Catra’s legs, middle finger sliding through the wetness. Yes, she has explored every corner of Catra’s body, knows where and how to touch her. She might not trust her voice, but she does trust her hands, even here in the near-darkness. 

A moment of teasing, and she slips a finger into the soft, slick heat, eyes never leaving Catra’s face. She wants to memorize everything about this: the way Catra’s right ear twitches, the way her eyelids grow heavy, the way her throat moves when she swallows. Adora twists her finger, wiggles the tip. Drinks in Catra’s reaction, the flutter of her eyelashes, the gasp that spills from her lips. Making someone feel good is an empowering experience, and a healing one, too. After all the pain they went through, a balm for the soul.

“You want more?” Adora asks, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a half-smirk when Catra lets out another half-growl, half-moan.

“What do you think?” Catra’s fingers curl around Adora’s arm, the one she has braced against the bed, claws sharp against her skin. “Hurry up and just--” 

She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Catra hisses, her eyes sliding shut.

“Yeah,” she says, voice thick. “I want you to -- ah, just like that -- Adora--”

It’s music to Adora’s ears, the way Catra says her name, the way she moans, loud and unabashed. Out of the two of them, she is the one who is more vocal in bed, the one who is better at using her words. Despite their upbringing, Catra has always possessed a level of self-awareness that allows her to express herself in a way Adora can’t. Adora can tell it’s not always easy for her, either, but she is making a good effort, something that makes her fall even more in love with her. 

“Hey, I’m here for you,” she says against Catra’s lips, voice barely above a whisper. “Feels good, yeah? Let me take care of you.”

She picks up the pace, tries to remember how to breathe. Tries not to get too distracted by the tight clench around her fingers, the damp heat against the heel of her hand. It’s impossible, because that’s the thing about Catra: she commands Adora’s attention, everything about her loud even when she doesn’t say anything. She’s definitely not quiet now, and Adora’s mind is on overdrive again, filled with a stream of ideas, broken sentences. _You like that? I bet I can make you moan even louder._

Adora pulls out and scoots back, settles down between Catra’s legs. Replaces her hand, her fingers, with her tongue, her lips. Now she can’t speak even if she wanted to. This is a different kind of language, one that can’t be spoken with words. No, it’s spoken like this, with long licks and open-mouthed kisses and rhythmic sucking, a hint of hot breath. _Your scent drives me wild. Do you have any idea?_ Catra doesn’t, not now, but one day, she will. 

At this point, Catra doesn’t speak, either. She’s breathing hard, breaking the silence with her moans. She tilts her hips up against Adora’s mouth; her hands are tangled in Adora’s hair, tugging and pulling and yanking. Pain-pleasure, a different kind of fire in her veins. Adora hooks an arm around Catra’s thigh, hoists her leg over her shoulder. She can read the signs. The ferocious hair-pulling, the rising cadence of Catra’s cries. So close now, just a little bit more, so Adora sticks to the only language that counts, and -- and drives her over the edge. 

This is one of the moments she will probably never be able to describe in words: the trembling tautness of Catra’s body, the whimper-moan spilling from her lips, the helpless twitching of her hips. _You’re so gorgeous like this. I want to keep doing this to you forever._ Instead, Adora breathes her in and doesn’t say a thing. Some day, the words will tumble out of her mouth, ready to be spoken, but today is not that day. Maybe it doesn’t make her a bad person.

Catra sinks back into the pillows with a sigh, body languid and heavy, tension already melting away. Adora gets up, stretches herself next to Catra, one elbow propped on the mattress. She puts a hand on Catra’s stomach, savoring her taste on her tongue. If Catra wants to kiss her, she will, but for now, she’s content just watching her, admiring her.

Catra tips her head back against the pillow, eyes flicking to Adora’s face.

“Seriously though, Adora,” she says. “I don’t know how you do that.”

“Do what?”

Catra lets out a small huff. “Take a wild guess.”

Adora can’t stop herself from smirking. “Cat got your tongue?”

Catra rolls her eyes. “Tell me, what does it feel like to be the least funny person in the world?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Adora says. “Is that a smile on your face?”

Catra elbows her gently. “Definitely not.”

Adora reaches out a hand, brushes a strand of hair away from Catra’s forehead. The moonlight no longer illuminates her body. A gentle breeze drifts in through the open window, stirring the curtains. An hour or two, maybe, and the first light of dawn will appear on the horizon, a prelude to a new day. Until then, they will bask in the darkness of the night, enjoy the all-consuming peace. 

“Do you want to sleep?” Catra asks. She’s tracing the curve of Adora’s waist with a claw, the touch soft, barely there.

Adora breathes in the salt of Catra’s skin, the smell of her sweat. 

“No,” she says. “I want to stay up and talk to you all night.”


End file.
